


Tentative Love

by LegendofMajora



Series: Twist and Pull [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Rape, light fluff, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monsters, Izaya learns, can't accept things like human luxuries. "I can't save you from yourself, Izaya." And well, if that isn't the truth, then Izaya's been swallowing glass shards for not long enough to tell himself this, already knowing more than Shizuo can bear.</p><p> Izaya can't drown himself in wanting to forget. Shizuo won't let him. Not anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tentative Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedlove/gifts).



They're gone.

Days and weeks on end just as he's putting himself up for maybe one more night of never really sleeping and on the edge of Shizuo and putting his own life back together. Maybe it's the touch he keeps craving but doesn't ask for when he knows it's not worth the risk. The seams of stitches popping open again after he's already sewn them shut and this time he bites his tongue until it bleeds and his mouth tastes like copper for days. Not like he needs to eat when Shizuo leaves him be. They're still on the edge, paused and waiting to fall. Izaya's leading—something he doesn't mind (in the _past_ ) but for some reason he tongues the blood staining his cheeks and sliding down his throat. It makes him gag and cough with harsh reminders that sometimes flash or bang in his ears. Too high and too bright or too dark to make out the sound of slapping skin and cooing laughter with clicking cameras and false flashes of false lights. And it's formidable how easily it slips through his fingers—his sanity. Remembering who he is until something starts to break and the next thing he knows is a head of blond hair and angry words.

Despite it all of spending unsettled hours and unruly wounds, they won't close no matter how many times he sees the pink puckering flesh and the fade of bruises. He watches and waits and examines for the next of the whereabouts of his past attackers with the rule of threes applied. Three of them, one of him. Fair in games when he's tied down and drugged and maybe a side of raped and gagged with blood and bricks and whatever pulls a shoulder out of place. Shove something up between his legs and make him bleed for lubricant. It's all fair, they say— _said._ Shiki already texts with the chirp that nearly makes him jump three feet in the air before he remembers that he's an idiot and his phone is on. So unlike the baby bird that he's making himself out to be he decides to look at the texts and there it is, photographic evidence. He's winning the lottery and this year must be his luckiest when it's one, two, three faces black and blue and nearly unrecognizable at this point. The words are in Russian, but he knows what they say.

_Done, Orihara._

That doesn't stop the nights of catching his breath unintentionally until black spots are all he can see. He doesn't need water and no, he's _absolutely fine_ so stop asking and staring with the glimmer like they know what he doesn't. All he needs is an answer to stop this insanity infecting his brain and just take a break from it all and forget the blond hair and white and blue. Too bad it's easier said than done when taking in the hangover of never getting enough sleep. When confronted with an empty bed and too afraid to handle the most, Shizuo takes his time. They go on Izaya's schedule and maybe it's all going to his head when he decides that it's better to take off a week before answering another text message— _not again._ Even Shizuo looks like he's at a breaking point of some sort, waiting for Izaya because he has to be careful, but this isn't the Izaya he knows.

Izaya hates the feeling of not being himself anymore, hates the skittish twitch of his leg whenever he's alone, walking at night after a meeting or needing to clear his head. All the work he can shoulder is the small things in email replies and average information work done from computers. No Shizuo, sometimes an office, Namie's on vacation, sorting files. Really now, it's not worth the drinking in the dark when the nightmares creep in and he starts to feel more broken down than he is. Alcohol technically isn't his normal vice, but staying awake on the computer for nights on end doesn't do the work anymore. Moving on to bigger things. Like spinning around in circles, swaying on his feet imagining hands on his hips to keep him centered, just fading when he falls over and one of the last times he cuts his head on his desk.

Keep dreaming, his mind mutters in its shifted chaos, churning restlessly in the thoughts of sanity and panic lacing together to form something too messy to keep Izaya stable. They exact revenge in the bottles of alcohol, something bitter and while Izaya never cares for vices, it strangely reminds him of calm. The buzz of warmth from belly to head, feeling light and free and no nightmares or images around a corner. No text messages to answer and the phone rings on silent when Izaya spins around to amuse himself.

Holding on for dear life—only a thread to grab onto at this rate. Brown liquid dropping, spilling from his mouth and staining him from wet cheeks to the hoarse murmurs of his throat. It's reminiscent because he's not enough to be himself anymore, and that may as well be the worst if Shizuo is gone too. Tip a bottle back, forget the burn of alcohol and split lips, try to remember when cheeks are dry and smirks are too commonly found, mocking—

it feels empty.

Waking up in a pile of garbage seems like déjà vu. The rotting smell of blood and decomposing is too familiar not to scrub out of his nose by the time he wakes up, sun blocking a headache for the first few minutes. Realizing he's alive comes much harder than the feeling of dread, like pinpricks, trickling through his veins to rise the hairs on his body in coy gooseflesh. All over aches like stepping the wrong way into Shizuo's path on a bad day and the area around him looks bloody. Must be from himself, painting the ground the same time he does in another pile of garbage in another time a month ago and with almost the same brand of pounding headache. No amount of bitter alcohol can drown out this pain.

"You're fucking kidding me." Sharp, clear, and _angry_ beyond belief when Izaya doesn't need to crack open an eye to catch Shizuo standing over him, having not heard the approaching footsteps and realizing that he's losing his touch. As well as sense of reality but that's a side effect of drinking away the bad memories and eventually forgetting to be anything but some sort of trash. Head pounding like hammers taking liberty of sculpting the damaged parts of his brain out and no courtesy to spare the blood to stay alive. Instead it paints the ground and all around from the sticky sensation under Izaya's shirt. "You have got to be shitting me. This isn't happening." Shizuo growls like he's accustomed to watching Izaya do this and somehow still remaining even vaguely interested with someone so disgusting, covered in sticky fluids and the sad part that comes with the quiet surprise is that there _are_ sticky fluids shifting under Izaya's torn clothing.

Rinse repeat repetition of shutting down end now computer malfunction—data not read or received in this case of how long has it been? A month? One month and here he is, may as well be bleeding himself to dry in the morning sun in a disgusting alley and still lying in the trash he is with nothing to offer. Redemption doesn't come no matter where the original criminals are and it doesn't matter anything at all if Izaya can't do this and refuses to try. Cracking an eye open, he can see the reflection of Shizuo in the source of whatever pain this is, exacerbating by stretching the wounds apparent on his body when he breathes. The burning isn't pleasant at all and it's even worse by what he assumes to be irritation burns or infection oozing through his bloodstream not having any purpose when metabolized and left to dry.

"I can't..." hands shifting through locks with brown roots, he hasn't dyed them in a while—how long has this been going on. He looks angry and it's the empty kind of not being able to hold the anger there but it leaves a mark like a bloodstain tearing out whatever feeling a monster can take and give back the mass of it in return. Monsters, Izaya learns, can't accept things like human luxuries. "I can't save you from yourself, Izaya." And well, if that isn't the truth, then Izaya's been swallowing glass shards for not long enough to tell himself this, already knowing more than Shizuo can bear when it comes to the strained form of their relationship. None of those shards have cut deep enough yet because no matter how many bitter chokes he goes through to get them down they won't cut out the ugly feelings of worthlessness in comparison to ignoring text messages or the warmth of another monster around him, waiting for him to adjust and no progress has been made. Traveling in reverse and nowhere is the only destination with them and they're going to crash and burn. He can taste the blood and smoke in the air, heat rising with the warming ground but he feels too cold to catch a glimpse of going back with permanent deletion.

"I know, Shizu-chan..." he wants to feel the warmth of being surrounded in familiar arms and not damp with soggy clothing and reeking of trash. The same thing he is and an added touch of misery for being somewhat human and still not enough to appease himself. "I..." _need you now I can't do this alone_ "I know, Shizu-chan," he repeats, "that not even you can help me." Which is the truth in his own opinion of wanting to let this go, why can't Shizu-chan do the easy simple things like turn around and walk away? Leave like every time Izaya imagines it from dreams to nightmares when they end in Shizuo never looking back because he's had too much to deal with and the flea isn't worth these kinds of emotional things. Morally revolting when there's love thrown around instead of carved into his chest, when fingernail marks are where the beginning of testing his life comes from Shizuo pinning him to a wall and the amazing scary part is that he can force Shizuo into a kiss and it screws them both over for the longest time.

They still aren't resurfacing yet, after the first kiss that isn't sweet and soft and long. It's short and cold with some sort of pressing reminder like hey, look at this what is this why is this happening when a god hates monsters. Monsters can't stand gods and so the crescents form indents in his chest, leaving scars where Izaya places Shizuo's hand and asks him to hurt him there in the attempt of having the beating organ beneath the flesh ripped out and properly crushed. It's all he wants and he still does, unsure and Shizuo's hesitancy catches him by surprise so they have to think of something to do when the air falls silent and there isn't metal screaming when blood hits in bone-crunching slams and tossed vending machines. So Izaya leans forward, ignoring the ache of crescent scars because (nothing compares) everything is worse than a little pain and maybe most in the flesh where he still breathes and lives and doesn't stop thinking. It's a deadly habit.

Shizuo snorts, angry and frustrated. He should be. At this mess, this disgraceful disgust lying in a heap of informant empty and soulless from day one ripped apart and stringing himself back together. Drenched in bloody clothes and Shizuo is almost hesitant to look and confirm the worst for himself like one month ago and the same sticky feeling of trepidation. His heart hurts. "You can help yourself, so what are you afraid of? Living?" His shoe curls above the ground, asphalt shuddering beneath him when he shifts his leg and the scent of cigarette starts to fade when it's crushed beneath the expanse of one shoe and there isn't much to revive. "News flash, you can't pretend you're not living if you're still here. When you're dead, that's it."

Which is completely obvious to Izaya if not by now then when maybe it's not entirely possible to know these sort of things. Like how Izaya can tell Shizuo's getting another cigarette and torn between leaving this time for real and the other option is just too much to handle right now. Talking himself down from the ledge of saying goodbye, all for Izaya, and this is the best the informant can do in a pile of garbage and have the nerve to ask Shizuo to simply end him now. End this—whatever this is between them, so that it won't have a hangover in the morning or the operating scars of attempting to end whatever ache pulses with the jump of his heartbeat. It's not fair to leave them both like this in angry declarations and Izaya curled up too weakly to be a fist protesting the death of his own sanity and inhumanity to become so—disgustingly human.

"I'm not afraid of living, Shizu-chan." Shizuo releases a sigh and his foot grinds the ground with his shoe, tearing gravel apart easily when monsters—real ones, not false gods—only have to breathe to take the world apart. Izaya knows this easily and too intimately to tell when the destruction begins and ends with him, having borne marks of kisses and fingernail bites on every part of his body from being too rough or too gentle that it feels like when he breathes he'll break everything. So he doesn't, until he's finally convinced that the real parts of taking things slow and gentle come from having to believe he can't break anything but himself and the person wrapped up in the same part of this.

"Well, it sure looks like it." Shizuo turns away, taking a drag of another cigarette lit with the click of a lighter. Izaya hates the smell of burning if it's not his own skin and the burn that lingers whenever Shizuo touches him—and even now or before, past tense, when he's too afraid of having the same kind of contact. "You're lying in trash, giving up right now. You've been raped, you've been beaten. But you can't just give up right now while you're still breathing." Because—because he is it's maybe that Izaya is trying to tell him to let go and move on when this isn't worth not working and no cogs or wheels or anything that makes no sense between them will actually ever be enough."Because when you've taken part of me, you can't just lie there and pretend I don't care." A kick to the wall and his voice trembles the same way it does when he sees blood on Izaya and knows the wounds are still there, mocking him carefully with sewing his eyes wide open and cutting his heart to bleed still attached and still reluctantly bleeding.

"You can't ignore the fact that I love you, no matter what has happened and what you do or don't do, because even if you shut me out, you can't stop knowing that I love you. And it's so fucking frustrating, watching you tear yourself apart and become someone that's not you. Do you know what happens when I see you, right here lying in front of me?" No answer. Caught up in all of this and too much to say more than nothing. "I lose faith, Izaya." Shizuo's voice cracks and he almost sounds as broken as Izaya, frustration reaching a breaking point and he keeps going, even if he doesn't turn back yet. Some ways they're just as hurt and Izaya is only realizing this now when it's just too late to keep moving forward. Give up the ghost, crumple over and lie on the ground to bleed out. Exhaustion closes his eyelids. "I lose faith in myself, for not being good enough to keep you alive, because all you're doing now is circling the drain. Waiting for death to take you, instead of being the bastard that I fell in love with. I'm losing faith in having a purpose of loving someone who isn't there. But I know you're there."

Shizuo is giving too much and not expecting as much in return. A small price to pay slowly growing larger with the days that add up and subtract too much to balance this return of giving what Shizuo wants. Izaya doesn't believe he's ever had the supply to keep going, regretting day one of fingernail scars and kisses like that and adding up to messy ones tinged with blood to soft ones that make his spine curl and his stomach can't ever sit still because the lack of violence and how real this all is makes him want to regret waking up in the first place, pretending that it's all a horrible nightmare designed to keep him feeling alive and dead. "I'm not giving up. Not because you're refusing help. I'm going to make you realize you have help. But you have to take it." And with that Shizuo is leaning over him again, blocking out the sun on Izaya's face and he has to face the fact that he can't leave his eyes shut for the meaning of forever.

"D-Don't, Shizu-chan." Izaya's pulse races and his breath trembles in a puff of air. He can't let the brute see—everything littering his body, from reopening wounds to new ones that are entirely self-inflicted from phantoms and too much alcohol with not enough empty numb holes to fill. Graveyards can't entirely be filled before he dies, unless he wants a burial at sea as to not remember much of the waking world. Only nightmares taste like lungfuls of saltwater and bruised lips. His blood even feels like ice from the preservation of dipping his chest in formaldehyde and watching it freeze over with permafrost.

"What are you talking about, flea." Still gruff, angry, and just as empty as the bottom of a bottle and the beginning of a morning that refuses to come yet. Puffs a dying breaths, waiting like the laugh that doesn't come but permeates on Izaya's lips, spreading and slipping into the cracks of dried blood and a split down the middle. Coughing makes it worse because he can see and feel Shizuo's eyes on him, hiding in the shade of making sure that the blond beast can't see what he's done now. It's just something worse—like an aftereffect. The stinging itch after a mosquito bite or the shuddering waves of calm and adrenaline after a climax and Shizuo's arms wrapping around him, anchoring him down and lips claiming his. Warm, gentle careful cautious so much it _hurts_ to breathe the same air and know that this is real.

Pull him into a hug, breathe in the scent of anxiety and slippery cigarette smoke hanging stale on worn-out clothes. But that's not how it works when leaving on the ground and either turn this way and see the blood, get angrier and then turn away or turn away now and don't deal with this. Whatever works, because Izaya doesn't have any solutions in mind and there isn't much to decide on with the pounding in his skull and the feeling that today may as well be his last. One turn, one step, and bleed to death where this game ends in the worst kind of victorious defeat. Neither side wins. Except for the counting of the matter when rapists win the loss of Izaya's slow-burning sanity. They're not supposed to—and yet, they do in the sense of making trivial things freezing icicles and catching death staring him in the face, hanging above his head.

Shizuo sighs, it sounds like the first breaking down walls bombarding anger and whatever it is that Izaya brings with the sight of his face, no lips smirking today and eerily quiet on the ground. Not that it matters with the same routine of Shizuo bending over to pick him up, hands brushing damp fabric soiled with blood. Izaya starts the same protest, don't touch don't touch he can't do this—but there isn't much to say or do, besides flail weakly and shield his head from a hangover of massive proportions. To which Shizuo notices the cringing and arms still manage to slither around Izaya, waiting for the leaning forward press of a bite.

Maybe bite and latch onto his skin, flailing while Shizuo has to breathe through his nose, showing that he's not giving up now and they're not having this conversation here. Period end of statement—this isn't how it's going to be and not how it will be. They're going to talk because Shizuo knows Izaya doesn't want what's happening to continue any longer, going by the trembling against Shizuo's chest, Izaya draped in both arms and secured under his knees and shoulders.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya squirms, hiding his eyes in the shadow of the blond's vest when he knows that it's too hopeless to squirm and too insufferable himself to ever admit defeat. "What the fuck are you doing?" It's not like Shizuo to keep going, stretched too far like a rubber band snapping with a pop and he thinks he hears it, but it's the wet pop of his jacket sliding off a wet hip wound on his back. With this he doesn't admit and doesn't need to, clutching on to Shizuo's bloodied clothing with his own blood and this is all hilariously ironic, feeling the ground shift beneath them and realizing that the alleyway is empty by the time Shizuo's lips press against his head and he never says anything else. Which is alright, as long as Izaya's asleep by the time and too exhausted to remember much when too tired of stringing himself out this far and too late in the morning.

It ends like this of not being sure where things are, but at least the one succession of a conclusion isn't the one Izaya predicts, although compromised by alcohol and self-inflicted wounds. Knowing the glass of a broken bottle too well, Izaya can easily piece back together the night before without much hesitancy, preferring not to as the ache in his head is meant to keep the thoughts away instead of exacerbating everything. Shizu-chan shouldn't be saving him like he's a damsel in distress anyway. Ridiculous, the entire thing has come to be and even if he can feel the sun behind his eyes, Shizuo looks like a murderer with Izaya's blood covering his front. He's ruined yet another gift from Kasuka, and while Izaya finds some sort of malicious glee in easily destroying another bartender outfit, there's the slight nagging wonder of why Shizuo is doing this for him instead of not wanting to get the clothes dirty.

So confusing, Shizu-chan. Stop this; it's going to ruin everything.

And he can't bear the consequences if Shizuo never listens.

_~_

"Come on," blurry awakening to the familiar surroundings of his apartment, empty—not really, with the gruff voice in his ear. This isn't dreaming, then. "Shower. You can't make me do everything, can you." Izaya doesn't bother with a sneer or a smile, not convinced that opening his eyes will keep the same images and sounds there or replace whatever he hears with a sight of the ceiling of his bedroom, staring on his back and awake from another nightmare. Another moment of screaming or shouting, fingers clasping empty sheets waking up to the regular life of reality and phantom aches from digging into wounds when he sleeps. Even if they're healed up by now his fingernails and pocket knives wander too close and by the time he realizes what he's done and in the same moments of not caring either the knife clatters, or keeps pressing. Anything to force the ache out.

Briefly interrupted out of his reverie, Izaya hears a door close and a fan turn on, meaning he's in the bathroom and his dirty clothes are going to soak his floor. Stupid Shizu-chan, must he do everything to not ruin his apartment? "Hey, are you okay?" Shizuo's touches feel like burning and wanting at the same time but still trickling like embers crawling down his skin itching underneath because of how uncomfortable he shouldn't be. Against a toilet lid Izaya finds himself sitting up, eyes opening reluctantly to a clearing sight of Shizu-chan leaning over him with each blink. Frustrated he pushes Shizuo away, only meaning a lingering touch and the blond beast laughs, moving away and to the corner of Izaya's eyes. Whatever, doesn't matter—

Shizuo is stripping. Izaya realizes this with an almost shock, having not been used to these sorts of things mind starting to race even after a month it still feels the same, phantom aches and his breath doesn't count evenly. Reconsider this now because this isn't part of it, watching shakily fully in a haze disconnected in the beginnings of another anxiety attack as Shizuo undresses in front of him. The worst parts are that this is his boyfriend and that they've done this so many times before why now has to be different doesn't make sense and it's not fair at all that he's the one breathless in the worst ways. Not to be expected when Shizuo must be realizing the slowly-churning cogs clicking into the spinning whirr of over-thinking and over-complicating everything to just _stop_ this.

"You okay?" Shizuo asks, pausing in removing his white shirt soaking in Izaya's blood, curiously glancing at the informant but Izaya knows that Shizuo can guess the answer to his own inquiry. Izaya narrows his eyes, meaning to turn his head away but watching the skin revealed when Shizuo takes off the shirt, using it to wipe off more bloodstains, that doesn't happen. What instead is Shizuo coming back over to him, never catching his chin and never touching, no matter how much Izaya love-hates the feeling of the beast's fingers on him or the gaze is too much for now. "Not like I'm gonna bite you or anything. See?"

With Izaya's on him, he drops the bloodied shirt in the garbage, piling on top of the other ruined articles of clothing. Izaya knows this motion to be ridiculously repetitive, snorting silently while rolling his eyes but Shizuo still keeps watching him, unconvinced by the display of _go away_ and realizing that perhaps there may be more than just stripping around Izaya—Shizuo remembers the first things. Touches hurt, talking hurt, and here he is, refusing to back down this time when Izaya needs to move on. They both do, and the only way it's going to work is if Izaya cooperates because believe it or not the damn flea has a monster who loves him in their own twisted sort of love-hate relationship. So many things, so many blanket statements for whatever this is or could be.

"Shizu-chan is so bossy." Izaya shrugs off his coat, taking the risk to boldly pull it off without hesitation and daring to look Shizuo in the eye, catching the blond's smirk when he does and scowling to himself because Shizu-chan is an idiot. Soaked in blood he throws the coat into the laundry basket, knowing that at this point the bloodstains almost completely ruin the thing and while he has more, he's not one to waste. Not when Shizuo watches him carefully and the burn is almost humiliating when eyes are on him, staring intently while pulling a look of nonchalance. As soon as his fingers reach the hem of his shirt, however, it's another story.

"What?" Shizuo asks, as if it isn't obvious enough when Izaya hesitates. His eyes flicker to Izaya's stilled fingers, back to Izaya's face and waiting for an answer when there really isn't much of an answer plausible to a beast which makes any sense at all to him. But this is stupid. Stupid because he's not supposed to be hesitating but the one who takes charge, teasing Shizu-chan with his clothing until the beast loses it and has to sneak in a kiss or more. And yet here he is, glaring at Shizuo and eyes moving away every so often because his fingers are shaking and refusing to move and this time it's not the alcohol or apparently becoming sober now when it's not really an addiction but a sort of time-wasting brand of self-medication.

"Nothing, Shizu-chan. Quit being annoying." Izaya grumbles, blinking another headache out of his eyes and hissing at the one pounding behind his eyes. He could use a painkiller—and Shizuo reaches for the medicine cabinet above Izaya's head, sorting through bottles of pills alarmingly light before reaching something, popping open the cap and Izaya finds himself served two painkillers as if Shizuo can read his mind. Or the expression on his face contorting when he doesn't watch, taking the painkillers with plucking fingers and popping them into his mouth, swallowing dry and cringing from the bitter taste. Suddenly it takes Izaya's fingers moving up his stomach and chest with the hem of his shirt, pushed by larger ones wrapping over his and too hot to be his own.

Shizuo successfully manipulates Izaya's hands to pull the shirt off of his head, landing in the laundry bin and finding himself chest to chest with the beast of Ikebukuro above him, moving his hands to the waistline of Shizuo's pants. "No, no, Shizu-chan," Izaya speaks almost frantically and completely unlike himself, tugging at his wrists and Shizuo isn't relenting, making no sense at all why does he want this can't he just drop it and not for one moment does Izaya realize this _is_ the issue.

"Calm down, flea." Shizuo makes his statement inherently clear, thumbs brushing over the skin of Izaya's palms and hooking his forefingers into the fabric. Waiting for Izaya's stare to subside the death glare burns into Shizuo's flesh, still waiting until Izaya huffs, tugging Shizuo's black pants down and over pale flesh. Catching his fingers on the skin Izaya doesn't notice the catch in his breath when he stops. Just over where he knows Shizuo's—he's—when Shizuo takes hold of his hands, pulling down the fabric and then finishing removing the clothing for himself when Izaya's staring straight at him, eyes unfocused when Shizuo grabs a hand and strokes it with the fingers of his hand, kissing the flesh with a dry brush of lips.

"I'm waiting for the part where you say you love me." Izaya's eyes snap to him, narrowing in disgust while Shizuo's lips taunt and pull, teasing when Izaya wrenches his hands free after Shizuo motions for him to finish taking his clothes off. It's only a shower and too much more than caked wounds that only ooze and with the ones on Izaya's arms and stomach, Shizuo already is staring too much for his liking watching for the moment of make or break into tiny pieces and never be the same again. But he's not like that, swallowing the saliva pooling in a dry mouth and waiting to hold on for dear life in the same situation not drunk not drinking and wishing for some sort of numbing substance. Shizuo's kisses—one caresses his temple, giving a ledge to hold onto and grasp when he pulls himself up and the pants have to come off.

"See? Easy, Shizu-chan." Even if he's playing into the game it makes the smirk turn into a smile and by his own volition he snags a kiss against wet lips, citing his own dry ones when Shizuo gives a lick to the split and while the flighty panic is still there he forces himself to keep going, taking all he can in one breath before pulling away and dancing closer to the edge of the shower with quick feet. They're both down to their underwear, Izaya keeping a pointed distance away from Shizuo's briefs while the blond laughs to himself, making an expectant smile when he turns to remove the article of clothing and suddenly the room feels too hot to breathe. Too hot to move and just from something as insignificant—they've done this so many times before. Izaya knows what it is and what it feels like and it's no different from his own and yet he still can't stop thinking in flashbacks intercepting his own thoughts.

Shizuo shakes his head, watching Izaya come undone again and reaching out a brushing hand not meant to grasp, but shock Izaya back into giving his attention. "Come on, we've bathed together enough before. Almost every day." Izaya rolls his eyes again yet the words work, moving in the fingers that tremble or don't try to show the hesitancy in removing his own coverings, fully nude and Shizuo doesn't look, knowing that it'll only make things worse and Izaya moves to get in the shower, pulling open the frosted glass and pulling the first knobs to turn on the hot water. The silence that falls between them is unusual as it's usually calm and worthwhile in mornings of waking up together and not fully conscious, but this time is different and almost uneasily silent with tension building like static electricity in not going anywhere but here.

Izaya has to make the first move. He does, when the water runs hot and steam starts to build, stepping in and he immediately turns to Shizuo, leaning against the wall becoming slick to curl a finger and beckon him with an impish grin. Almost back to normal, still a ways to go when Shizuo takes the invitation and bares his fangs for the intention of making the flea smile. However he takes the initiative of the invite, closing them in and leaving the door to slide shut before he steals a kiss when Izaya's not paying attention. Focus, focus, back here. It's over and that's how it's supposed to be in moving on. Still hesitant, more than wanting to be normal and forget all of this and the worst part is that it's not possible and only worth moving on. That's what it makes sense to be.

Washing off his sins, Izaya's never much of a saintly person anyway and by far crueler than a demon could be, but the blood slides off with the superficial wounds left to bleed from picking at them for too long. Stupid, but a method of releasing bad memories but this is a habit to blend into when Shizuo leaves him to wash his own hair. Space isn't a big deal but Shizuo prefers the closeness, intruding all too easily to only pester Izaya with random kisses or skin moving against his for brief moments. Closing his eyes in those times he can feel lips on his forehead or throat, trailing down his cheeks getting wetter and the warmth is much more welcome from a shower than Shizuo trying to hog it all. Greedy Shizu-chan.

"Okay?" Shizuo speaks after minutes of continued silence, lathering his own hair with shampoo and running a glancing hand through Izaya's. Making a point of not letting more than simple touches, treating Izaya like a baby bird maybe because it's necessary and maybe he wants to see what happens if the flea gets too frustrated for his own good with the lack of closeness—Shizuo knows the weakness of stealing heat in the form of cuddling. Wasting it, Izaya's said, is one of the worst crimes he can commit. Only this is as far as it goes for admitting any fondness for wanting touch and to be fair Shizuo can't complain or blame. It's perfectly fine with him if he gets another chance—hold onto Izaya, or have the other around him. Whatever works, fits, and between them only in moments like this where they're meant to have some time together.

He's missed this a lot more than he thinks he has. Which is why his hand suddenly retracts from pushing Izaya's hair back, messing with the black strands until it falls to his side, forgetting the purpose with the bitter realization. The wounds on Izaya's body he feels a grudging guilt for, despite them not being his fault entirely but still his issue for not helping in the prevention but there's nothing he can do for them. Wait for the healing, can't tell if they scar or never leave a mark. It's how this sort of relationship works because if they hang too much in the past it crumbles apart with the distance. Keep moving forward and hang onto the shy smiles or tangled up in each other between sheets even if Izaya's feet are icy cold.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya's lathering himself, bubbles sticking and sliding down his skin. His eyes are curiously studying Shizuo and a little brighter than earlier, leaning against the wall with one hand still and it may be from the hangover when he squints. "Don't just stand there. You're hogging all the heat, beast." With a push against Shizuo's chest Izaya releases from the wall, unsteady more than he thought to be and slipping on the tiles, balance on the edge of tumbling when he plants his hands on Shizuo's shoulder's. The warmth soaks through and soon enough he's staring into mocha brown, caught between a frown and a falsified smirk of confidence when he realizes that this beast can see right through everything he puts up. It's more than deflating to know this but there isn't much to do but keep trying when stupid Shizu-chan knows too much for his own good. Damn it.

Arms wrap around him, slithering around his waist and loosely holding Izaya against Shizuo who is unfairly several inches taller. "What're you gonna do about it, louse? You reek even if you take a shower." Izaya hisses at this, using the leverage of Shizuo's shoulders to pull himself up and force Shizuo's head down, colliding their lips intentionally this time and it's not rough or biting or bruising his flesh with ugly hands—simple kiss. Just a simple kiss of lips moving against another pair and wet and hot unlike the steam of the shower beating on their backs when turning to the side. Shizuo against the shower wall, giving Izaya full reign and the flea knows well enough what it's supposed to mean and the kiss that Izaya gives is supposed to mean plenty of things. What Shizuo decides is up to him, because the details aren't for Izaya.

Izaya's hands slide into Shizuo's wet hair, untangling with the slick feel of shampoo while arms tighten around him, fingers trailing down the path of spine between his shoulder blades starting from the nape of his neck. Sliding his head a little more to the right Izaya can press himself a little closer to Shizuo, knowing the consequences of memories that do and the phantoms of _Shizuo,_ he reminds himself, when Shizuo's hands start to roam around his skin and carefully away from the wounds of a glass bottle. Despite the pounding headache, the painkillers are starting to work though this feeling is working much faster until he has to pull apart to suck in another breath and continue. Shizuo tastes slick like saliva and morning breath, ew, but his mouth is at least warm and tastes like warmth for the main part. Nothing too special and Izaya can't imagine that he's any different save for the sour tang of alcohol which he hates and Shizuo despises bitter tastes. Which never makes sense if he's eating ootoro and Shizuo steals a kiss, or even part of the delicious fish. Bastard.

It feels hot from the steam collecting and foggy on the frosted glass, Shizuo holding him with burning hands up and down his sides in slow circles, skimming the surface while the water hisses as it sprays against them. Bubbles slide to the drain, Izaya pinning Shizuo to the wall with his body weight and his groin is uncomfortably moved away as to not involve any unwanted contact, shuddering when Shizuo's hands reach his hips and rub circles into his flesh. "Shizu-chan..." Izaya moans against Shizuo's lips, meeting an introduction of tongue tracing the seam of his lips before he parts them, squirming with the intrusion into his mouth that slides over his tongue so easily it hurts. All of this feels too good and it's almost like it's not real, except that he's the one pinning Shizuo down with his forearms and Shizuo is so kindly using himself for something resourceful instead of wasting space.

Fine, it's going fine until Shizuo's hand lingers to the front, too quick for Izaya to pull away when his fingers stroke the shaft of a growing erection Izaya forgets he has. Then it's a quick pull apart and Izaya catching his breath, eyes flickering away when the self-interrogation begins with conflict of not wanting to be the victim anymore and frustrated with the slow progress. Shizuo has to intervene at some point, cupping Izaya's chin and moving to his cheek, kiss slipping against Izaya's lips and this time Izaya has to pull himself out of this. Whether or not he wants this because this is what they do—it makes sense not to be jumpy and to tease and taunt Shizuo until he's too far on the edge, angry and desperate (sounding like a dream in this entire month, oh time has passed) and not intimidated by one touch.

"S'okay," Shizuo interrupts, quiet and washing out the rest of shampoo from his hair while grabbing the conditioner. "We don't have to continue. But you have to decide if you want this or not." Izaya grabs the bottle from him when he gets an ample amount, frustrated more with himself and biting his cheek because he knows Shizuo doesn't know when to shut up (especially if he's right) ever. So it's belittling to himself more than enough when he shudders and can't stop the shiver from slipping down his spine and has to force his mind not to think when he bites into his cheek and decides on too many things at once.

"I'm _fine_ , Shizu-chan." Izaya mutters after moments of pausing when he can feel the uncomfortable arousal pooling in his dick, almost half-hard and while Shizuo's fingers feel like a mix of ugly disgusting—too much to stop now, it's unfair there has to be a decision. He hates the feeling of being too weak like being held down and forced to be submissive, drugged and stupid with hatred ugly emotions and a shaking breath to know that he's in his shower with Shizuo who's obviously just as aroused as he is and this is _normal_ and why the fuck can't he do this right and so easily. "Just...just don't be too rough, ne?" His eyes turn upward to Shizuo and he gives a coy pull of his lips into a smirk, telling himself that the wet friction of Shizuo stroking him once is deliciously addictive and not forceful. They're careful about this and it's not so ginger where Izaya feel insulted. More that his brain decides it wants more and he's completely all for it, little steps at a time.

Lips press against his, chin tipping up while Shizuo leans to him. Again his arm wraps around Izaya, stroking and massaging flesh while Izaya's hands don't spare the time to waste, making use of tangling themselves wherever is available and while the water is still hot. Frustrating in the fact they're too close and not close enough, Izaya's eyes starting to burn and blinking doesn't really help when the clench of his chest starts to unwind and it hurts when it does, forcing some sort of block to be there and losing focus when Shizuo's hands tightens around him. Interestingly and or horrifyingly enough he lets out a moan, sighing with the noise and almost pitching into a whine that sounds pitiful. It's still not enough, Shizuo starting to move when Izaya's shoulders aren't shivering and he groans again, quietly into Shizuo's mouth while they press closer and closer to relieve the heat that's becoming too much with how little actually happens in too much time.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya moans, still on top of Shizuo who strokes him lazily, shivering in something other than nervous disgust and flighty anxiety. "H-Hurry it up. You're t-too slow." Moaning, Izaya presses his hips barely forward but enough to exaggerate his point, meaning to say much more in the small action and catching a whine in his throat when Shizuo obliges, attaching his lips to Izaya's throat as he strokes a little rougher and thumbs the slit, Izaya's back arching beneath his hand.

"You sure about that?" Shizuo nips at Izaya's ear, feeling the shudder and hearing the hitches in breaths when Izaya tightens his dulled fingers into the skin of his back. They make trembling paths down Shizuo's shoulder blades, moving back up and pausing with the occasional stroke and impatient buck of his hips when Shizuo continues to tease him. "Because I can't go too fast, or you'll run away again, won't you?" Trailing down Izaya's jawline and sucking at the Adam's apple he stifles his own groan, Izaya's hands moving lower while the heat of the shower is still too suffocating.

"Hate you too, Shizu-chan," Izaya composes himself momentarily, fingers trembling so badly that Shizuo considers stopping when he feels them against his hip, allowing Izaya to continue from the curiosity of what comes next. Slowly, achingly almost, Izaya's fingers steady themselves in the familiar flesh leading to where Shizuo himself is throbbing hard, precum leaking from the tip and mixing with water when Izaya sucks in a breath and before Shizuo can realize fingers wrap around his cock and pull upward, forcing a moan from the beast. Instantly while Shizuo tries to hide the sound Izaya laughs, sounding careless and finding this too funny for his own damn sake and while the sound is much better than a nervous titter, at the expense of his own isn't always as worth it.

Unless, of course, he can have his revenge in which he starts stroking normally now, moving just slower than usual and Izaya is the one squirming against him even if he's on top. Just this between them now, not wanting to let go and if they do they die, figuratively and maybe literally if Izaya happens to bore of Shizuo at any time—doubtful, but leaves something to fight over in bed until one of them pins the other. Izaya has a hobby for getting Shizuo as hard as he can be, reaching the limit and then completely letting go, leaving Shizuo to have to deal with the horrible side effects of Izaya pretending to sleep while he giggles away. Revenge is always worthwhile, however, but not in this moment when it's not and just the simple actions of reaffirming that Izaya's still alive and _this_ is still alive no matter what happened a month ago.

And Izaya's fingers, as gentle and light as they are with the teasing notions hiding the testing feel of breaking out a little further, keep the blood pumping to lower regions and even more so in the minutes passing by of nothing but hot water, kisses sliding lazily until Izaya permanently reconnects their lips, moving and sucking and hesitancy faltering as much as he speeds up the movement of his hand, following Shizuo's pace and their hips are pressed together, arousals brushing when Shizuo takes them both. Izaya pants against Shizuo, tongue stabbing into Shizuo's mouth and sucking at the other muscle while Shizuo can sense and feel the anxiety creeping up on the informant when his breathing tightens.

"It's okay, it's okay," Shizuo repeats himself in a murmur, moaning softly and Izaya's eyes are still in slits, lazily open while refusing to close, "let it go, Izaya." Pain and embarrassment and shame of all things mixing into the heat of getting closer and closer to climax, it's okay it's okay it's _okay_ to let _go_ and it's nothing but pure pleasure and heat when he comes.

Completely fine.

It feels like new beginnings of wrapping himself in new clothes, opting to spend the morning in bed with Shizuo offering him a seat, wearing spare clothes kept over from too many night sleeping over and never the question of making two apartments into one. Maybe later because now is breathing, sagging bonelessly in which memories don't have the same twisting and pulling effect of splintering his mind into whatever jagged open wounds there are on his skin. _Shizuo is not them._ Which is confusing and numbing at the same time, feeling empty but in the comfortable feeling of darkness and actually the both of them getting some sleep for once. Two arms, one bed not cold and dark in the respect of concrete and windows and ties—enough of that.

Twisted tainted tentative love. Just like them.

Starting over, Shizuo's lips brushing against his ear. "I love you," he snorts for a moment when Izaya sticks his tongue out at him, "flea."

One day, maybe he can say it back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hooray to the end of the Twist and Pull series! I hope you enjoy, twistedlove my darling.
> 
> Congratulations to everyone who has been trolled~ Fun prank, ne? Thank Mama Shizuwan for helping me with the idea.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


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